


Orison and Benison

by epeeblade



Series: The Thorn Hawk [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Nuns, Prayer and Blessing, Priests, Vatican, espresso, pope, priest!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Clint has gone on retreat at the Vatican, trying to figure out his feelings for Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orison and Benison

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lapillus for the title and beta, and Auchterlonie for her beta work. The title mean "Prayer and Blessing."
> 
> Most of the Italian I grabbed from google translate, so I apologize for any misspellings. Also, it's been twenty years since I visited the Vatican, so I'm sure things are very different now. I fictionalized a lot, since I couldn't find evidence of a monastery or convent being actually in the city. (Btw, google streetview is awesome for looking at the streets of Rome and select parts of the Vatican.)
> 
> Warnings - This fic is about a priest and religion. Please avoid if those are triggery for you.
> 
> I am planning a third fic, btw. Still very much in planning stages.

Clint didn’t like his assigned confessor. It wasn’t just the perpetual scowl on Bishop Meroni’s face, nor the way he seemed to nod off during their sessions. Clint had always felt there needed to be some sort of connection between priest and confessor, even if they only met for a moment, and he never felt that way here.

Unlike the other priests in his retreat group, Clint had to make his way to the bishop’s private apartments, instead of meeting him in the monastery chapel. Italy was frigid in February, and while he might have enjoyed people watching in St. Peter’s Square, it was too cold to linger, although that didn’t seem to stop the tourists. Funny how hearing so many different languages reminded him of home.

The bishop’s apartments weren’t much warmer. That was the thing about marble. Well, stone, at the very least. Clint wasn’t enough of an expert to judge, although he loved running his fingers over the smooth surfaces - staircases, statues, edges of fountains. There was an ageless quality to Rome, and Clint felt that sense of time with every step. 

Meroni spoke with the slightest of accents. “Don’t you think it’s time we started discussing this person you think you’ve fallen in love with?” 

Clint had to fight from bristling at those words. As if Clint didn’t know his own mind and conflicted heart. That was part of the problem - the feelings he had for Phil were so deep and real, that he couldn’t reconcile them with his love for God. 

“What do you want to know?” Clint wanted to wrap Phil up and keep him something private and not to share. Especially when he knew how Meroni would react if the bishop knew Phil was male. 

“Have you had any physical relations to confess?” For once Meroni looked sharp-eyed as he leaned forward in his plush easy chair. It was far from the only thing of luxury in the bishop’s sitting room. There was a wooden desk with the polished surface and precise carvings down the legs along one wall, and a bookcase to match. Clint hadn’t looked closely at the figures on display, but from his own hard wooden seat he could make out the intricate globe with its gold base, and an exquisite clock that chimed the hour.

Clint took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of espresso that the bishop must have had before Clint’s arrival. “A kiss,” he admitted. “before I pulled away.” 

“Nothing further? No groping, no removal of clothing?” A spark appeared in Meroni’s typically dull expression..

“Of course not.” Clint wouldn’t break his vows.

“I see.” Meroni sat back, looking almost disappointed. “You realize if you are not honest with me, Father Cliff, that puts your immortal soul in jeopardy?”

“It’s Clint. And it’s the truth. We never shared anything more than a kiss.” Though sometimes Clint thought about what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped Phil that night. 

“You also know that thoughts and desires are just as bad as the deed, correct?”

Clint swallowed, fighting back the memory of desire that threatened to rise. “I know.”

“Remember your purpose here, to repent and do penance.” Meroni took a breath, gearing up for another lecture, one that Clint really did not want to have.

“Excuse me, Your Excellency,” Clint dared to interrupt, trying to look as contrite as possible. “But I am expected at the convent for my work assignment.”

Meroni rumbled under his breath. “Very well. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” He moved through the concluding prayer and Clint bowed his head. 

He tried to pray, but the sense of peace that normally followed confession eluded him. This wasn’t something he could blame on the bishop. He knew his catechism and Clint wasn’t coming here with an open heart. 

Clint had left for Italy five days ago. He had been sitting in the airport, waiting to be called for boarding when Phil had shown up slightly out of breath, with his tie askew and his hair mussed.

“I’m not even going to ask how you got through airport security.” Clint couldn’t help grinning as he stood.

Phil smiled. “I’m a ninja.”

Clint laughed harder than the joke deserved. It was such a relief to see Phil one last time. He didn’t know what was going to happen on his retreat, and it was possible Phil wouldn’t be here when Clint got back. Phil’s job was always so dangerous and uncertain.

“I brought you this.” Phil handed over a slim silver box with the Stark logo on the side.

“Phil, I can’t really accept any gifts from you.” Not when Clint was still trying to figure things out.

“It’s not from me. It’s from Stark.” Phil made a face. “One of his requirements for his donation to the church was replacing all of the technology with Stark Tech. That includes staff phones. It comes with a data plan, so you won’t be out of touch in Europe.”

For all of Phil’s complaining about Tony Stark, it was clear Stark himself cared for Phil.

Clint took the box. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so clutching the phone took care of that. “Thank you. Well, thank Mr. Stark for me.”

“Now boarding rows one to ten,” came over the loudspeakers.

Nearly time to leave. “I’ll call you when I land. But after that, I can’t make any promises.”

“I understand.” Phil nodded.

Maybe he did. Clint closed his eyes and really hoped this wasn’t goodbye.

  
***  


Clint had to stop thinking about Phil. The whole point to being here was to renew his connection with God, to try to find the center of his faith again. He’d thought it would be easy, once surrounded by the heart of the Church.

He’d hoped it would remind him of why he wanted to become a priest in the first place. Clint had fallen in love with the silence of churches, the impressive art, and the devotion obvious in the crafting of each statue. Something sung in his soul when he was surrounded by the beauty man had created to worship God. 

So he’d eagerly explored St. Peter’s Basilica in his limited free time. It had not disappointed him. From the moment he stepped onto the nave, surrounded by art on all sides, Clint had been lost. He’d been standing in front of Michelangelo's Pieta when the desire to call Phil right then had pulled so strongly. It had startled him, that he’d wanted to share this with Phil instead of finding a silent moment with God.

Clint had hid the new Stark Phone under the floorboards of his bedroom to keep himself from making the call..

It was a good thing he’d done that, because right now his fingers twitched with the urge to dial Phil and repeat for him that disastrous Confession. Clint hadn’t realized how badly it had gone until he’d made it out to the street, and gotten a bit of distance from the bishop. If he had sinned with Phil, Clint certainly would confess it. But Meroni seemed overly invested in the gory details. 

Clint tucked his hands in his coat pockets as he headed down the narrow streets. He wanted to tell Phil how pissed he was, how downright angry that he’d come here for help, and instead found, what? judgement? Clint had hoped for understanding. The other priests in his retreat group kept to themselves and the only place Clint felt remotely useful was the Convent of St. Germaine. 

He ducked down an alleyway to see Sister Maria Grace waving in his direction. Clint checked his watch, but he wasn’t late.

“Vieni, vieni,” she said. Clint knew enough Italian to get by, and his vocabulary was increasing the longer he stayed here.

Clint followed the tiny nun inside, careful not to step on her long black habit. He’d been taken aback at first, since the nuns back home just dressed very conservatively. Maria Grace and her sisters covered themselves so completely, only their faces were visible. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned by her urgency.

She turned back long enough to pin him with her shrewd dark eyes. “No, no. You’ll see.”

When he’d started his retreat program, Clint had been given the option to work at several places. The sisters had needed some physical labor, so that’s where he’d volunteered. It reminded him of home, and right now Clint also missed working with his kids. He hoped the monsignor wasn’t too overwhelmed with the changes Stark was making to the youth center. Clint would have to call and check up on them soon.

“See?” 

Boxes had been stacked up just inside. They must have gotten a new shipment in, and Clint was impressed the heavy cargo had made it beyond the alleyway. 

“Want these in the storage room?” Clint had been helping to carry and inventory the contents of that room, though it was nowhere near organized.

“No, workroom. Come, come.” She clapped her hands.

He had to work hard to hide his smile. These must be the beads she’d been waiting for, the special ones for the new sets of rosaries the sisters were creating. Their handmade creations sold very well in the Vatican gift shops, and were a source of pride for the convent. 

Clint hadn’t been allowed near the workroom before. He’d assumed because it was near the living quarters for the sisters. Priest or not, men were not permitted inside. But apparently that wasn’t the case, because Maria Grace led him through halls trimmed in dark wood, decorated with a crucifix here and there, and past one statue of the saint decorated with silk flowers.

Maria Grace pushed open a set of doors twice her height before Clint could even offer to help. Of course, he was carrying two heavy boxes. Beyond the doors was a large room with a circle of nuns sitting around a long table covered with beads, pliers, and bits of chain. 

The women looked up from their work at the interruption. “Buongiorno,” Clint grinned as he was greeted in response. 

Most of the nuns looked about as old and fragile as Maria Grace, with skin so wrinkled it looked like parchment. There were a few younger ones at the opposite end of the table, and one that caught his eye in particular. Clint watched her as he put the boxes on the table, getting out of the way of an eager Maria Grace with a box cutter.

The young nun was almost too young. Her features were movie-star beautiful, and while her expression was bland, and her gaze kept modestly to her work, Clint couldn’t shake the feeling she was watching him.

Maria Grace opened the box and several of the sisters got up to look. They began chatting in Italian far too fast for Clint to follow. He grinned, caught up in their enthusiasm for their work. At least he felt useful here.

When he left the room to get the rest of the boxes, he could feel eyes on his back. Clint turned back in time to catch the young nun looking up from her work. Their eyes met, and she frowned.

Even here, Clint couldn’t escape judgement.

  
***  


Clint sat up on his narrow bed, his body pouring with sweat and his hands shaking. The dream - nightmare - still lingered and he could see flames under his eyelids. He’d been surrounded by hellfire, screaming as they chanted ‘damned’ all around him.

He hopped to his feet, relieved to feel hard wood beneath them and not daggers. Just a dream - a horrible, terrible dream. Clint turned on the light, but even that didn’t chase away the shadows. He dressed, knowing that he was not sleeping any more tonight.

What he really needed was some physical activity - the kind that would burn the darkness away. Back home he’d be playing ball with the kids or honing his skills on the range. He was spending far too much time on his ass here, and while he was sure all the praying was useful, it wasn’t what he needed right now.

Clint slipped out of the monastery. It was just after Lauds, so most of the brothers had just gone back to bed. He needed to walk at least, and he couldn’t do that inside these walls. 

“Please, Lord, I want to serve you. I just don’t know what these feelings mean.” 

Was God testing him? Was all this just some challenge to see how truly dedicated Clint was?

No. That wasn’t the God Clint believed in, the one that set his heart on fire. His God was compassion and mercy. 

Clint knew the church’s teachings on this. Loving Phil wasn’t a sin, but expressing that love was. The funny thing was that Clint had never wanted a physical relationship with anyone. His teenage sexual encounters had been brief and unsatisfying, and often left him feeling dirty afterward. Clint couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be touched by Phil. It wouldn’t be like his past, not with their years of friendship between them. Phil’s kiss had opened up something in Clint that he could not close again.

“Aiutatemi!” _Help me!_

Clint stopped when he heard the scream. It was only then he’d realized how far he’d walked from the monastery - out of Vatican City into the heart of Rome. He didn’t stop to think, he just ran for the voice. His hands reached for his phone, but found his pockets empty - of course, the phone was still safely stashed under his floorboards. 

“Police!” He called, still running. “Polizia!”

He skidded to a stop outside a narrow alleyway. In the darkness beyond he could see four men cornering a woman in a pale uniform. “Get away from her!” He called in english, too agitated to translate.

The goons stepped back from her, but they’d set their sights on Clint, and he was in no way capable of taking four guys in a fight, not even in his teenage punk days. Well, at least she would be able to get away. Clint could take a couple of knocks.

He stepped back, drawing them out of the alley and toward him. The first guy led with a punch that Clint easily dodged. Backing up wasn’t going to work forever. Clint had just about braced himself for a hit, when a rumble of a motorcycle caught his attention.

The bike - a sleek modded thing that did not look like the typical Italian motorbike - roared down the street toward them. The rider skidded as it approached, taking out the first two guys who’d gone for Clint. Then, she - and it was a woman in black, with a helmet that covered her face - leapt into the air, all swirling kicks and punches, until all four were moaning on the ground.

The girl came out of the alley, staring wide-eyed at Clint, who just shook his head. He wasn’t the one with the fancy karate moves.

“Scappare.” The woman on the bike told her.

Nodding, the girl ran off into the night.

“Come on. I’ve alerted the police. They should be here any moment.” She flipped up the front piece on her helmet and Clint immediately recognized the too pretty nun from the convent. 

“Wait, what? Who are you? You can’t be a nun.”

The glare she leveled at him was so not impressed. “I work for Coulson.” 

She was one of Phil’s super spies? Warmth flooded Clint at the thought that Phil had sent him protection before he realized that wasn’t Phil’s style, not at all. “Come on where?”

She picked up her bike and straddled it, before flipping her face plate back down.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” But Clint gingerly got on the motorcycle behind her, holding on to the seat instead of wrapping his arms around her. There was only so far he was willing to go. 

They pulled up in front of a cafe. If it were summer, there would be tables set up outside, with tiny umbrellas and iron wrought chairs. Instead the outside seating area looked bare, with the chairs missing and umbrellas shuttered. 

Clint shivered as he got off the bike, watching the un-nun park it in the street next to the other motorbikes. It had been a fast ride, nothing like the vespas he’d ridden on before. He looked up at the lightening sky, and was aware of the city starting to wake. He could smell baking bread and warm coffee and his mouth watered.

“I figured this would be better than a bar.” She had taken off her helmet, revealing a shock of wavy red hair. Clint followed her inside, marveling as she chatted the barista in fluent Italian, speaking too quickly for him to catch it all. 

He found a seat by the window, realizing he was going to miss Prime, and if he wasn’t careful, the morning sessions led by Father Gilmore. Although he wouldn’t mind missing his daily confessional with the bishop, it was probably not a good idea. 

“Drink.” She put a cup of steaming espresso in front of Clint, and sat across from him with a large cappuccino. 

Clint took a sip, and nearly choked. “This is spiked.” He caught the flavor of licorice and spice. “Sambuca?”

“Mmm,” she responded, not confirming. “You looked like you could use it.”

“Right. Now, who exactly are you? Because I don’t buy that Phil sent you.”

“I never said he did. I said I worked for him.”

“Prove it.” 

Clint thought he saw approval in her eyes. Moving slowly, she pulled something from a pouch on her belt. It was an ID card. She handed it to Clint.

“Natasha Romanoff.” It was embossed with the SHIELD logo. Clint had only seen it once, but he hadn’t forgotten. “Are you the ‘Nat’ who baked him cookies?”

“Does Coulson talk much about work?” Natasha took back the ID when Clint slid it across the table.

“Not really. He mentions people sometimes. Tells stories that don’t involve the job. That’s how I know about the gingerbread.” Her lips tightened at that. “And Nick’s fish, and Jasper’s soda can tab collection. But Phil doesn’t talk about what he does.”

It was enough that Clint knew. Phil didn’t have to talk about it. Clint could tell when it had been a hard mission, just by the look in Phil’s eyes. Those nights Clint tried to steer the conversation to happier things, and the television to comedies instead of reality TV. 

He knew Phil pretty well, better than he’d known anyone in his entire life. It wasn’t surprising, really, how these feelings had blindsided him so thoroughly. 

“But you know what he does.”

“Do you mean do I know that you must be a super spy? Yeah.” Clint fiddled with his cup. “Um, is that a problem?”

A slow smile slid across her face. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Ice creeped down Clint’s spine. “You’re not here to kill me?” He didn’t quite believe that. For one thing, she’d never have dragged him into a public cafe to do it. 

“Are you so sure?” She cracked her knuckles and Clint was reminded of how easily she’d taken down the four men in the alley.

Then it hit him. “You’re here to give me the shovel talk? Seriously? I’m not even, we’re not even dating.”

Natasha went still, and that made him feel real fear. “You’ve been dating him for years apparently. He might not speak of work to you, but you are ALL he speaks of at work.”

“Oh.”

“I owe the man a debt. I came to make sure your intentions are honest.”

“I’m still a priest.” Clint didn’t speak the ‘for now’ he added in his head. “Phil knows that. I didn’t make him any promises.” Clint hadn’t, but something in him was just waiting to get back home to Phil. It was wrong, and he knew it. Nothing he’d learned so far had made the desire go away.

She slowly sipped at her drink, so delicately that not a trace of the foam was left on her lips. “Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

“Is your superpower being extremely insightful?” Clint tried his own coffee, but gave it up. He wanted his wits about him when he went back to the monastery. “Look, I get that you’re trying to be a good friend here, and I appreciate it, because I care about Phil too. I care about him way too much.”

Clint rubbed his eyes, the lack of sleep catching up with him as the adrenaline from earlier crashed. 

“If you care, why are you here among these fools?” She snorted. “Meroni? Has been having an affair with his secretary for months. The abbot? Has a few children he’s quietly putting through university. This place is full of liars and charlatans.”

“Sinners,” Clint corrected. “That’s why we need God. None of us are perfect.”

The mockery was still in her eyes, but her tone was soft. “I believe I know what Coulson sees in you. Both of you are believers.”

Did she mean his Phil? Clint opened his mouth to correct her, but realized Phil had a faith of his own. It might not be to Clint’s God, but it was a belief in right and wrong, and hope that humanity could rise above. 

Lord, he really missed Phil.

“I need to figure things out.” Clint swallowed. He could say it all he liked, but he wasn’t any closer to a decision than when he first arrived here.

Natasha stilled, and then pulled a phone from her belt. “Clear,” she said, then winced at whatever the speaker said. “I’m on vacation. I can go where I wish.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. It was what, midnight in the states right now? 

She met his eyes and sighed. “Yes, he knows I’m here. He’s fine. I’m sure he says hi.”

His mouth went dry. She was talking to Phil. The urge to leap across the table and grab the phone was overwhelming - and stupid, since all he needed to do was go back to his room and pick up his own damn phone.

“All right. Fine. I’ll see you in sixteen hours.” She glared at the phone. 

“Did I get you in trouble?”

“I got myself in trouble.” Natasha tucked the phone away. “Come. I’d better get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

“Oh, it’s long past time for that.”

There was a text from Phil waiting when he got back. _I apologize for Agent Romanoff. I hope she wasn’t untoward._

Clint grinned and texted: _She was fine. Saved my ass, gave me a ride home._

_I’m going to want details._

_I’ll share next time I see you._ He hit send, hoping Phil would understand the message there. Clint was coming back. Eventually.

  
***  


What did it mean that Phil talked about Clint at work? Did everyone chat about their spouses and significant others and Phil just threw in mention of Clint? It bothered Clint all through the next morning, wondering what exactly Phil had said.

He was on his third espresso when it hit him that Natasha might not have exactly told him the truth. She’d come in Phil’s defense, after all, wanting to check out Clint and his intentions. She wanted him to react. Had Clint passed her test?

When he went back to the convent for his work hours, Clint looked for her, but it seemed Natasha had cleared out. He tried to ask Sister Maria Grace about her.

“The young sister? With the…” Clint gestured to his head, but realized Maria Grace might never have seen Natasha’s red hair.

“Stop looking at pretty girls.”

“Trust me. Not a problem.” No, it was an attractive older man with kind eyes that had caught Clint’s attention.

She gave him a shrewd look. “Padre, why are you here?”

Clint opened his mouth, but couldn’t say anything at first. Why was he here? Did he want to be punished for his feelings for Phil? To be forcibly brought back into the fold? It wasn’t like Clint expected to be placated and told to go off like a twisted version of the Sound of Music.

He wasn’t Maria and Phil was no Baron von Trapp - though the thought of Phil in lederhosen nearly had him giggling. “Sister, I honestly don’t know. I wanted to get closer to God.”

She called him a name in Italian that he couldn’t translate. “God is not only here.”  
Well, of course not. Clint went back to stacking boxes, but he couldn’t get her words out of his head. Had he been so lost that he’d forgotten that simple truth? “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.“ That didn’t always mean beneath the walls of a church.

When Clint had the kids together playing ball after school, or in the youth center working on homework, there He was too. 

The monsignor might have had the best intentions sending Clint here, but he was starting to think it wasn’t anything he couldn’t find at home. Home, where Phil was. It meant something how much Clint missed him. 

He’d always have God, even if he left the priesthood. But Phil? Phil was one of a kind.

Now the only question was if Clint would finish out the retreat, or cut things short and head back to New York.

  
***  


Clint still hadn’t made up his mind by the time Monday rolled around. Part of him felt he should just stick out the two weeks. He was very close to the end, although Clint couldn’t say he’d really gotten anything out of his sessions at the monastery. And by this point he was an expert at evading the bishop’s questions, which was not at all the point of Confession.

Today’s retreat task had them hunting down a bible verse that applied to their particular circumstances so they could meditate on its meaning. At this point, the monk in charge was either running out of ideas or needed a break.

Well, if he was going to stick this thing out, Clint had better do the task.

He went upstairs, leaving the others in the tiny monastery chapel, to retrieve his own bible. He’d had the same copy since seminary. It was well worn and marked up with pencil and sticky notes. He’d much rather use it than borrow one. If he were going to do something so intimate as this, then Clint wanted HIS bible.

Then came the problem of choosing a verse.

He stared at the cover for a moment, running his fingers over the worn words that used to be embossed. Finally Clint blew out a breath. “Let God decide.” 

Closing his eyes, he flipped through the bible and stuck his fingers on a page at random. When he dared look, Clint swallowed hard at what his actions had revealed:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.”

He’d picked out the passage in Corinthians most often used in weddings. Clint had performed a good number of them himself, always caught up in the happiness of the couple he was uniting.

But what did it mean? Was it permission to accept what he and Phil had as something special? Or was it a stark reminder of the vows Clint had made to God? 

His fingers brushed across the words “love is patient.” Phil had been so very patient. The idea of marrying Phil - they were nowhere near that step, but he couldn’t help the turn his thoughts had taken. 

Clint had to choose a different verse. This one was too revealing. He could imagine the knowing looks he’d get from the other priests. He wasn’t the only one here who’d sinned for love. 

When he got back downstairs, the group had left the chapel. He heard the sound of voices coming from the dining hall - all loud and discordant, not what he normally associated with the monastery. Clint ducked inside, still holding his bible under his arm. “What’s wrong?”

The abbot answered. “Il Papa has resigned.”

  
***  


“Hey, Phil. It’s Clint.” He held the Stark Phone between his chin and shoulder as he packed. At some point he should probably figure out how to set the thing on speaker.

“I’m assuming you’re at work, which is why you’re not answering the phone.” Phil had never failed to answer when Clint had called. Clint only hoped this was a work thing and not that Phil had finally run out of patience.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve seen the news - and I’m not sure if you would have noticed, but, uh, the Pope quit.”

A sense of panic and - dare he think it - excitement had flowed through the city. No one knew what this meant, but everyone was talking about it. Clint found the theological implications fascinating, and he was looking forward to discussing it with Phil.

“And, you know, as much as I’d like to stay here while they pick a new one, I think it’s time I came home. I mean, if the Pope can quit, I think it’s time I really looked at my options. So, uh, when you have a chance, let me know when it’s a good time to come over, okay?”

Clint pulled the phone away and clicked ‘end call.’ He hoped he’d hear from Phil before he got on the plane, otherwise it was going to be a very long thirteen hour flight. 

It didn’t matter. Clint was going home.

end


End file.
